


malicious intent

by tanyart



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Enemies With Benefits, Ficlet Collection, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-08-08 17:04:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16433402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: A round-up of explicit Drifter/Shin one-shots, most of them based off of prompts.





	1. apology accepted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: spanky

Against all expectations, they were getting somewhere this time around.

Shin’s forehead was pressed to the table, the ridges of his helmet rolling at the slightest turn of his head. He thanked whatever stars out there that he kept it on as a habit. Pants to his knees and bent over while the Drifter ate his ass out was a recipe for letting his mouth get the best of him. It was bad enough hearing the feedback—his own groans and shuddering breaths, half-bitten back even with the output turned off—Shin would rather put a Golden Gun to his head than let the Drifter hear all of it.

The Drifter let out a quiet laugh, letting his tongue work in circles around Shin’s entrance. With both hands gripped to either side of his ass, Drifter angled his head and drove in deeper, chin bumping against the back of Shin’s balls as he worked Shin through. Shin’s fist came banging over the table, upsetting the trinkets the Drifter kept over his messy desk. Was it weird that he could  _feel_  the Drifter grin against his ass? A smug bite over one cheek confirmed it. Yeah, the bastard knew he was doing a great job.

There was a line Shin had to draw. It didn’t do any good to pretend he didn’t enjoy a single thing the Drifter did. Shin was fine with his cock dripping a wet mess onto the floor, having his legs shake at the slightest move from the Drifter’s tongue. The Drifter was a smart enough guy most of the time, knew his cues, knew what Shin wanted through body language alone.

That didn’t mean the Drifter had to  _hear_  Shin turn into an incoherent wreck. Not today, at least.

There was a break from the tongue as Drifter pulled his head back. Probably to catch his breath, and Shin bit his lip, thinking about it. On impulse, he put one leg up on the table, spreading himself, and let the Drifter decide what he wanted to do next.

From behind, Shin heard the Drifter hum in approval, felt the Drifter’s hand slide down to his thigh.

“That’s what I like to see,” the Drifter murmured. Then, without further warning, he landed a hard smack across one ass cheek.

It was hard to say what surprised Shin more—the sting of the hit or the loud slap that echoed throughout the Ascendant Plane. He didn’t know the Ascendant Place  _could_  echo.

Either way, Shin was stunned into silence. Utter, disapproving silence. He lifted his forehead from the table, looking over his shoulder to stare at the Drifter, and enabled back the audio.

“Did you just slap my ass?”

Even the Drifter seemed to realize his mistake. He put both hands up, as if that had absolved him of everything, but what came out of his mouth was an unrepentant, “Nowadays I think the kids call it a spankin’, friend.”

Shin put his leg back down. He unbent himself from the table and stood up. His pants slipped further down to his ankles, but it only highlighted the fact that his dick was now decidedly disinterested.

It was as if the Drifter had slapped the sense right back into him in one go. Traveler’s Light, he was fucking  _the Drifter_  of all people, and that was terrible.

Shin started pulling his pants back up. Maybe if he killed himself right here, right now, Ghost would be kind enough to resurrect him far, far away.

The Drifter raised his brow. “Aw, come on,” he said, exasperated. Needy. Lips wet and bright pink. In a shockingly bold move, he grabbed Shin’s wrist to stop him. The saving grace was the Drifter guiding Shin’s hand to pat at his own butt. “Here. You can spank me back.”

Shin let his limp hand thumped against the Drifter. “Now why in the hell would I do that when you’re lookin’ so eager for it?”

The Drifter’s wolfish grin vanished. He put on a more penitent expression, which wasn’t fooling anyone. His very  _eyes_  were leering. “Yeah, well, why don’t you put me over your knee and find out? Promise you, I can say sorry  _real_  nicely.”

Against all good sense, Shin’s dick gave a hopeful twitch. Ah, fucking  _shit_. He should have finished pulling up his pants. Shin closed his eyes, cursing himself. The Drifter was still holding onto his wrist, making his palm rub over the Drifter’s ass. That in itself wasn’t a huge temptation, but when Shin finally gave it a hard squeeze, the Drifter’s mouth fell open, wordless except for a stuttering exhale, and his gaze darkened.

“Alright. Let’s hear it,” Shin said, rough, and chose to ignore the Drifter’s flashing grin as they dragged each other to the floor. “Start apologizing.”

And as far as apologies go, the Drifter ended up being pretty good at them.


	2. cut throat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Diese! A sort of specific breathplay scenario that ran away from me.
> 
> (Post-Identity Reveal, still enemies with benefits.)

Shin knew it was going to happen. The moment he stepped behind the doors of the Drifter’s dingy alleyway, he had his hands on the Drifter’s collar, half considering which direction he should take this—decided _not today_ —and went for his pants, then against the wall. The Drifter let him have at it too, even with the rough treatment. Or probably because of it.

“Been a while, stranger?” the Drifter breathed, his cheek pressed to one of the support beams.

Shin nudged the front of his helmet to the Drifter’s neck, knowing it’d be cold. The Drifter twitched. “Why ask? You’d know.”

The lingering smell of grease from the ramen shop permeated just about everything, but Shin was glad to be fooling off the Derelict for once. He had never been claustrophobic, but something about that slapdash mess of a ship made him uneasy. It was better down in the City, real gravity and real air, and the Drifter didn’t seem keen about having Shin onboard nowadays.

A quick fuck was what Shin wanted, for no other reason than feeling unbelievably horny and wanting to get it over with, and the Drifter delivered. With a smirk, Drifter bent himself over one of his weapon caches, let Shin grind himself stupid against him, and made enough obscene noises to topple Shin over the edge in record time.

When Shin reached around the Drifter to return the favor, Drifter wasn’t having none of it.

“Would rather exercise my mouth, if you’ve a mind to indulge me,” he said in a lazy drawl. He turned around to face Shin, hands sliding down to give Shin’s ass a squeeze. And as if that hadn’t been clear enough, Drifter poked his tongue out with enough smugness that Shin wanted to bite it off if it hadn’t been for his helmet.

Suddenly a quick fuck turned into Round Two, Two and a Half, and then it was the third one that left Shin completely naked and furious on top of Drifter’s mangled cot.

Shin glared up at the Drifter. His face felt like fire, even with the cold air hitting across his exposed cheeks.

His helmet dangled from Drifter’s hand. It wasn’t the first time he’d been without it in the Drifter’s company, but _was_ the first time the Drifter had taken the initiative of removing it himself. Mid-fuck, on top of Shin, two fingers working into him. Dirty as hell.

And against all odds, Shin was still horny. Tricked, but still horny.

“What? You want it back on?” Drifter asked, and maybe Shin would have said yes, but the way Drifter’s lip curled, it was a taunt. “Playing coy was cute in the beginning, but I thought we were past that now, eh Shin?”

Shin wasn’t sure about that. He didn’t think the Drifter was the type to hold a grudge on a personal level, but maybe there was always going to be an exception for the Man with the Golden Gun.

When he didn’t answer right away, the Drifter made an exasperated noise and tossed the helmet back to Shin. “Don’t see what your problem is.”

“What, you want to talk about it now?” Shin asked, just as annoyed. Drifter’s cock was still hard, probably dripping more now that they were arguing. At this point, Shin just wanted the damned thing in him. He laid back. “Fuck me or fuck off.”

Fortunately, Drifter had the same priorities. He got back down and didn’t say a thing when Shin didn’t put the helmet back on. Shin thought that was going to be the end of that, but when the Drifter finally pushed into him, good and slow, Shin stifled an embarrassingly desperate groan.

It had been different on the Derelict. The walls weren’t as close and without his helmet, the small back-alley room echoed with his voice. With both hands gripping the back of Shin’s thighs, the Drifter rocked back into him, and Shin had to clench his jaw, trying to bite back another moan.

The result was a choked off noise from his throat, and that was already too much for the Drifter to let pass. Shin _burned_.

“ _Oh-ho_ , I see now. Don’t like me hearing you?” the Drifter said, hips still moving, still making Shin grit his teeth. He shifted, letting go of Shin’s legs to lean close. His grin made Shin made want to punch him. “Fine by me. I’ll keep your mouth shut for you—” and then dipped his head down and kissed him.

Shin immediately grabbed him by the throat, indignant, but Drifter only wheezed a half-laugh into Shin’s mouth and kissed him again with another thrust that made Shin’s grip go slack for a moment. Then, resentfully, Shin wanted to point out that Drifter wasn’t really keeping his mouth shut when his tongue was busy trying to shove itself between Shin’s teeth.

Drifter smirked. Shin could feel it against his own mouth. His hold over the Drifter’s throat tightened, both as a warning and to get a better grip when the Drifter continued to fuck him into the cot. Drifter made a noise, sounding vaguely pleased about it, even pushed his face closer to add more pressure over Shin’s hand.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shin mumbled, head spinning, and Drifter made sure that was muffled too.

It couldn’t even really be called kissing, and if it was, the Drifter was fucking awful at it. It was like he was fighting Shin every step of the way, giving no room between them, and chased after Shin at every inconvenience. On impulse, Shin wanted to pull away for more air, but Drifter dove in deeper, covering his whole mouth like he wanted to swallow up every sound that escaped from Shin. And he did, letting Shin groan and curse against him. It took Shin longer than necessary to realize that it all might’ve been deliberate, and by then he was lightheaded and needy and letting Drifter control his every breath.

Shin still had his hand around the Drifter’s throat, just in case. He could feel the rumble of Drifter’s groans, the slick build up of sweat at his nape. Drifter’s movements became erratic, but he fought against the pressure of Shin’s hand and drew in with a growl, doubling down and determined to keep his mouth over Shin’s. There was something antagonizing about it, spiteful and condescending, and the attention made Shin shiver all over.

He bit down on Drifter’s bottom lip, heard the satisfying crack in Drifter’s breaking voice, and that was enough. Instinct kicked in and Shin turned his head to the side, gasping as he spilled over himself, crashing into his orgasm with each new breath.

There must have been some noise from him, no doubt, but Shin’s ears were ringing and he supposed as long as he didn’t have to hear it himself, it was fine. Drifter was shuddering over him, face buried into the crook of Shin’s neck. That was fine too, for now.

Drifter started to mumble.

“What?” Shin said, weary.

“I was _saying_ ,” Drifter said, pulling away, “no wonder you keep the helmet on.”

The Drifter’s bottom lip was bleeding. Shin could feel the blood drying from his own lip. He absently licked it away. “Though you’d like biting.”

“What? ‘Course I do. Love that shit,” Drifter said, rolling to the side. He stared at Shin. “No, I’m talking about you looking goofy as fuck afterwards.”

“The hell you mean?”

“I’m talking about you getting all happy and smiley after you bust it. Thought you were about to golden gun me for a sec, there was so much sunshine on your face.”

Shin paused, not liking this piece of new information. At least, new information from Drifter. “So you’re saying a fella can’t look _happy_ after they come?”

“Nah, just you,” the Drifter said, yawning. “You just sound like you’re mean muggin’ all the time. Couldn’t tell before, with your Renegade persona—oh. There you go. Back to looking like you wanna kill me.”

Shin grabbed his helmet and put it back on.


	3. marked out

Most of the time, Shin finds the Drifter easy to predict. All he has to do is think of the most obnoxious course of action and _usually_ Shin can brace himself to be inconvenienced in some way.

Other times, Shin is left with an opened vest, his back against the wall, and Drifter staring down at his bare chest with a little crooked smile on his face. Then Shin doesn’t know what to think.

The staring isn’t obnoxious until the Drifter thumbs one of the old bruises beneath Shin’s rib cage and presses down, hard. Shin sucks in a breath, glad to be on familiar ground again, and sets his shoulders. He’s still unsure of what the Drifter’s up to until Drifter runs a hand back up to the marks at his collar bone.

The Drifter whistles, low. “Well, well. Don’t _these_ look familiar. You haven’t died since we last fucked?”

It’s been a little more than a week. Shin grimaces at the reminder, even while he feels an odd sense of pride at the fact that he isn’t in the habit of dying easy. The Drifter looks impressed, not that Shin really cares for his opinion, but there’s something assessing in his gaze that sets Shin on guard and nudges his interest at the same time.

“Could be,” Shin says, going for vague. He tips his head back when the Drifter’s knuckles bump under the edge of his helmet below his chin. Sure enough, there’s another old mark at his neck, faint but still there.

“Or could be you chose to resurrect back with ‘em,” the Drifter says with a grin. He lowers his mouth to Shin’s neck, biting, getting another lease on that spot of skin.

Shin lets out a bark of laughter, off-setting Drifter with his hitched movements. That’s _real_ fucking funny.

“Yeah, alright,” he says, snorting as the Drifter pulls away. The new mark stings like a motherfucker. Feeling humored, Shin shifts forward against the wall, getting a thigh between Drifter’s legs, and lets the Drifter rub himself over it.

Drifter’s still eyeing the bruises over Shin’s skin, rocking back and forth lazy, short motions. He’s hard under his pants, pressing himself over Shin’s thigh with more pressure. Interesting. Shin braces his foot against the back wall, giving the Drifter more leverage.

Of course, Drifter sees that Shin’s noticed.

“Now, I ain’t in the habit of being possessive,” Drifter says, hand coming up to brace against the same wall. He pants a bit, pausing, and adds, smiling sharp, “Of people, anyway.”

“Can’t own people,” Shin agrees, reaching over to pull apart the front of Drifter’s robe. Now he’s curious. He moves aside the cloth, hand brushing over Drifter’s waist.

Nothing. Old scars from real knife and claw fights, but otherwise clean. Shin knows he’s left Drifter just as bruised and marked before.

Drifter laughs, loud. “Oh, you _thought_ —”

Shin’s head buzzes. _Can’t own people._ But you could make them want, though. Make them crave. He’s never thought much of the marks Drifter left on him. He doesn’t like how he’s thinking about it now.

A flare of annoyance bursts in his chest, angry and red, and Shin’s temper has never been the best. Before he can even think twice, Shin surges forward, blinking the manual command to transmat his helmet off.

The Drifter’s face is a blur, so up close like this, and by then Shin’s mouth is already on his, swallowing up all the mocking laughter. There’s a grunt of surprise from Drifter, and then the silence right after is satisfying enough to make Shin dizzy. His hand gropes through the Drifter’s pants, squeezing and rubbing, and he gets an answering groan in return.

But that isn’t anything, _nothing_ compared to when Shin snarls and bites down on the Drifter’s lip, hard enough to break skin. After that, it’s just sensations—blood blooming in his mouth, the Drifter cursing into his ear, his breathing going ragged—but the Drifter’s entire body seizes up, fingers digging into Shin’s arms and back. Shin ducks his head to the Drifter’s neck and sinks his teeth there for good measure, hand still working the Drifter through and he comes.

He feels the Drifter’s breath stutter before the string of angry _fuck,_ _fuck, sonuvabitch_ comes through, and Shin has enough foresight to back away, turning his head quickly as he tugs his hood up. A quick hand signal later he gets his helmet back on proper.

The Drifter is busy spitting blood on the ground to care. When he wipes his mouth, Shin can see the deep, jagged cut.

“The _fuck_ was that for?” the Drifter snaps, tongue swiping away the blood still welling at the corner.

It’ll scar, if the Drifter lets it, but Shin knows better than that. Instead, he eases back.

“I wanna see how long it’ll keep,” he says, more evenly than he feels.

Give credit where credit’s due—the Drifter knows how to play games. He stops messing with the cut on his lip. “Ain’t fun if you don’t throw in a wager,” he says, spitting again.

“Match me. A week without dying.”

“And?” the Drifter prompts, impatient. He adjusts his pants, looking annoyed.

What a reversal. Shin leans against the wall. “Can’t own people, but they can owe you. Anything.”

The Drifter glances at him, shrewd. Turning his head must have brought attention to the mark Shin’s left at the juncture of his neck. Drifter’s brushes a hand over it, fingertips drawing back wet with more blood.

“Huh,” he says, rubbing them together.

Even with the helmet on, Shin keeps his gaze steady, not willing to give the Drifter the satisfaction of staring at the marks, or his fingers. “Bet?”

The Drifter smirks. He reaches over, pressing against the old bruise at Shin’s collar. There’s the tacky feeling of drying blood when he rubs a circle over the mark.

“Deal.”

 

* * *

 

A week later, and the Drifter’s sitting pretty on one of his crates. The bite mark on his lip is gone, skin new and unbroken.

“Sorry, pal,” he says, robe slipping off one shoulder, too smoothly to be on accident. The mark at his neck is gone as well. “Couple of Taken Knights sniped me good. You know how it goes.”

“Figures. Too many people want you dead,” Shin says in grudging victory.

“I’m a popular guy,” the Drifter agrees. The other half of the robe slips off his other shoulder as he leans back. Every word next is a lazy drawl; “Mind giving me second go at it?”

“Sure,” Shin says, bracing his hands on the crate at either side of Drifter, listening as the Drifter’s laughs his mocking laugh. “But you owe me.”


	4. ain't no grave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: bloody nose argument

Drifter was surprised that he even managed to land a hit on Shin Malphur. It wasn’t a dozen bullets to the face with Malfeasance but at this point Drifter was too pissed off to care. It took a lot to really, _truly_ rile him up, get that curl of Darkness to lash out, but sure as Hell wasn’t a surprise Shin Malphur could force it out of him.

So, fuck it, Drifter decked that bastard good, and it satisfied that raw ache in his knuckles good enough if not the itch of his trigger finger.

The alley went dead silent, but it only lasted a heartbeat before Shin lifted his head back up, blood running a bright trail down his nose and jaw.

He stared back at Drifter with this look in his eye, a real scary one, one that Drifter hadn’t seen before. ( _Had it been there all this time, when it was just the Renegade?_ ) Then Drifter had the realization that he was in some big fucking danger, enough for him to take a half-step back and that was all he had.

They had been arguing about — semantics, morals, the _usual —_ but at the moment it didn’t matter when Shin twitched and, _cross his heart_ , that was all Drifter saw before he suddenly found himself on his back, Shin leaning down over him with a crushing weight that wasn’t entirely human.

The mean business end of the Last Word rammed against the side of his head, barrel hot with Solar energy.

He hadn’t even seen Shin’s hand go for it, and Drifter was no slouch at combat either. All those centuries of living and fighting by the skin of his teeth, he just couldn’t track how fast _Shin fuckin’ Malphur_ was, and he hated knowing the Renegade had been hiding that insane quickness all this time. Seemed like those stories and legends counted for something in the end.

And it wasn’t like Drifter was going to just lay down and take the bullet. Instinct told him to move, reach out for anything — knife, gun, Light, Darkness — but he was still reeling and dazed from being knocked down. With that notorious gun pointed at his head, it was just a blind struggle to get rid of that weight pushing him into the ground.

The first thing to pull Drifter back was the hot splash of Shin’s blood dripping on his face. He tasted iron flooding into his mouth, and spat it back.

Shin didn’t even flinch. Didn’t have to, considering how bloody his face already was. He eased back, the pressure lifting off Drifter’s chest, and absently wiped his bleeding nose with the back of his hand, the same hand that was holding the Last Word.

It took Drifter a while to feel Shin’s other hand pinning down his wrist above his head. The grip tightened in warning, and Drifter realized that instinct did pay off and that he was clutching a knife he didn’t remember pulling out. Shin was only holding it back as a precaution, and Drifter saw with no small amount of fierce gratification that there was a new cut across Shin’s cheek.

That explained all the bleeding, at least. Drifter still didn’t let go of the knife though, even when Shin’s hold turned painful enough to make the bones in Drifter’s wrist burn.

Drifter cursed, heart pounding in his ears. Tried to give Shin another swipe with the knife again, but Shin really had him stuck, especially when he bent down again to drip more blood in his eye.

“You done?” Shin asked, impatient. He sniffed, licking the corner of his mouth to little effect.

“You gonna shoot me or not?” Drifter snapped, but his eyes followed the quick dart of Shin’s tongue.

“Huh?” Shin sniffed again and leaned forward. His gaze went down south, lifting his weight off Drifter a bit to reveal the tent between Drifter’s legs. He glanced back up, sharp eyed and hungry. “You sure you in the mood for gettin’ shot, or you thinking about something else?”

Shin settled back down, not even to tease, but the pressure made Drifter buck up a little bit with a groan. See, that was the problem with fooling around with guys like Shin Malphur. Couldn’t tell what was a death match and what was just leading up to fucking sometimes. Now all that fighting adrenaline was running loose in him with nowhere to burn out. He shivered, still struggling for air that seemed stuck in his lungs.

Drifter knew Malphur was one scary sonuvabitch, but it was another feeling all together seeing it for himself. It reminded him of the dark, unnamed monsters he saw beyond the system, full of viciousness and checked back power.

And, Drifter thought, _it was fuckin’ good._

So, the next time Shin leaned down to drip blood in his face, Drifter made sure to meet him halfway, opened mouth and hungry for it.

And it was great feeling, that, when the monster laid himself right down beside you.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well. in light of the new lore, i'm swerving into some real deep pining territory.

Drifter comes hard for the second time in less than an hour, the wildfire hit of pleasure sweeping over him. He gasps against Shin’s chest, head whirling, dizzy with his orgasm. Shin’s grip on his shoulders hang tight to the point of being painful, but it’s only for a moment — Shin rides his lap, hips no longer rolling to a steady rhythm as he chases his own high. Drifter feels Shin’s cock twitch against his stomach before he hears the whimpering moan, and then the warm wet splatter over his skin as Shin comes.

Drifter quickly wipes the mess with his hand. It’s not much. Considering that it’s Shin’s third round, he really ought to be grateful for both their swallowing habits.

Drifter swipes the come off using the edge of the bedsheet, and then has to put his hand right back over it to keep himself upright when Shin presses close instead of climbing off. He lets out a muffled groan that sounds mostly protesting, but he can’t deny being a little alarmed. _Just how many times can this man go?_

“Hell, let a guy rez first if you wanna go again,” Drifter complains against Shin's kisses, and it’s as close as he’ll ever get asking for mercy.

“No… not goin’ again,” Shin mumbles into his mouth. He sounds sated enough that Drifter partly believes him, but the way Shin continues to nip along his jaw leaves room for plenty of doubt. 

“Really,” Drifter says, wary. A hand comes up to his hair, nails lightly scratching at his scalp. It’s distracting enough to make Drifter go down easy with a small push — more of a heavy lean forward on Shin’s end than anything else — and Drifter braces himself, back flat on the bed. He waits a beat, but Shin only sprawls on top of him, sticky and damp with sweat. 

Drifter’s been put in nastier and stickier situations. Shin clinging around him should be nothing, except now Shin’s treating him to another round of clumsy kisses that leaves Drifter a little too lightheaded to get his complaints out.

“Really,” Shin assures sleepily.

 _Then why all the kissing and touching still_ , Drifter wants to know. Shin’s mouth yet to stop, though his movements have taken on a lazier demeanor. Not just his kisses either — the hand stroking his hair, his legs shifting to tangle with Drifter’s. It’s less fervent than it had been a few minutes ago. No more of that spitfire quickness, the scorching demands and burning want. The change leaves Drifter reeling, wanting to find purchase in something more familiar.

Everything Shin does now feels languid and drawn out. Drifter blames all the orgasms — surely Shin wouldn’t doing all of this if he hadn’t been hit three times in the span of an hour. What’s Drifter gonna tell the Vanguard now — that their Renegade Hunter has fucked himself into a blissful haze?

Drifter turns his head to Shin’s mouth, coaxing his lips to part and feeling a little defeated when it only takes a gentle nudge. There’s not a whole lot of ulterior motives, other than to keep doing it, because… _because it makes_ — 

He can feel Shin’s smile against his mouth and then it’s gone, and it might’ve felt like something close to happiness.

Before Drifter knows it, he’s hard again. He stifles a small noise as Shin’s thumb brushes across his cheekbone and beard, all the unthinking softness made worse when Shin puts his nose to Drifter’s neck and nuzzles there. Drifter breathes in a little too sharp, still silent, but the tension in his body gives him away.

The quick flash of surprise in Shin’s eyes makes him want to slink off. And Drifter can say any number of smartass comments but the words on his tongue die without much of a fight when Shin reaches down to touch him.

Shin doesn’t say anything either. Just kisses Drifter in the same quiet way as he strokes him lazily. Drifter’s breath doesn’t run out so much as turn heavier, everything going languid and building slow. Shin’s forehead pressing against his makes Drifter arch more than Shin’s hand on his cock, an absent kiss at his temple gets him shaking, right on the edge and waiting to fall. 

Drifter doesn’t crash, but he burns and spills himself over with broken little sound. His hands are grasping at the back of Shin’s neck, keeping him close. Drifter lets out a shaky exhale, wrung out and pleasantly empty of anything, except for how Shin’s hair tickles at his beard. 

Shin shifts, the weight finally letting up from Drifter’s chest. Drifter takes in a full breath, savoring it, and then uses the last of his energy to drag Shin back down to sleep.


	6. Arc Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Arc Week. The Traveler sends out a pulse of Arc at a bit of a rowdy moment between Shin and Drifter.

Things were going their usual pace. Drifter was kissing Shin, Shin was kissing him back. They’d just met up in the Annex after some time apart. A couple of weeks, maybe.   
  
It wasn’t that things were going too fast. Drifter would’ve called the mood frisky, nothing really down and dirty yet. The potential build up for something more was there, but also the potential for either one of them to stop with no real complaint.  
  
It wasn’t until Drifter got his hands on Shin’s waist to pull him close that the hairs at the back of his neck stood on end.  
  
Shin grinding against him set off an unbearable friction. He followed after it, hips jerking as an electric current up his spine made him moan into Shin’s mouth. Shin’s breath caught, and suddenly Drifter was finished. _Over._ Completely done in. An inexplicable orgasm shot through him like a static shock and Drifter staggered so hard he knocked Shin right over.  
  
They didn’t hit the ground. Shin lost his footing but had grabbed onto one of the rails, sliding down with a funny little noise. Drifter slumped against him, still reeling and confused.  
  
Whatever unexpected hit of pleasure he got disappeared quick. The front of his pants was damp and sticky. Drifter felt himself go hot with embarrassment. He didn’t even want to look at Shin and would’ve stayed glaring at his own traitorous crotch if Shin hadn’t let out a breathy groan as well. Drifter sat up, blinking slow.  
  
Shin had a glazed look in his eye, one that Drifter was plenty familiar with whenever they’d fuck. The way Shin grimaced and shifted his legs confirmed it. Drifter stared, stunned that Shin had made a mess in his pants too, then backtracked and felt viciously vindicated.   
  
“What-” Shin muttered. He shivered, like he was still sensitive. “...Wasn’t _that_ good.”  
  
“Hey, thanks. You weren’t exactly Mister Shaxxanova himself either.”  
  
Shin still looked like he needed a moment. That was more than fine. Drifter glanced around, feeling weirdly energized. Restless. Like he was all charged up despite the tired twitching of his muscles.   
  
Drifter licked his lips, surprised to find the sharp taste of Arc on his tongue. He sure as hell wasn’t in the habit of using it on his own. “The fuck. Did you zap me?”  
  
“Why the hell would I do that?” Shin was also testing out the energy around them, feeling it out with his Light.  
  
Drifter bought it. Shin was more likely to burn than start sparks. He huffed. The air tingled at his skin, which just as annoying as his wet pants.  
  
Shin’s Ghost flitted into view, it’s eye flickering. It dropped a tablet into Shin’s hand and Shin took it without looking too bothered. His Ghost disappeared. Drifter’s own Ghost wouldn’t have come out for nothing.  
  
“Vanguard reports say it was a multi-system wide pulse of Arc energy from the Traveler,” Shin said, reading the tablet.  
  
“Never did trust that thing.” Drifter’s lip curled. The news didn’t sit well with him at all.  
  
Shin scrolled down some more. “No known adverse effects so far, though Arc wielders are having a field day in the Crucible.”  
  
Drifter thought about what it meant for Gambit. Eh. Fallen were going to have a bad time with their shields. Primevals weren’t going to be fussed much. He might have to swap out some bounties to keep up with the trends, but that was all.  
  
The sound of air crackling stopped Drifter’s musings. Shin got close, raised static across his lips when he pressed forward to kiss him again. The playful nip at Drifter’s jaw lit up a spark.   
  
“You wanna still go?” Drifter asked, wry. His skin tingled.  
  
It felt like lightning about to strike between them.   
  
“Always did wanna try a little Arc with someone,” Shin said, getting his hands settled on him.  
  
Drifter scoffed, setting sparks of his own when he pulled Shin in for a hard kiss.  
  
As if they needed the extra electricity. 


End file.
